


The Eagle and the Mole

by Ritequette



Series: DGM Hallow Countdown [5]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Angst, Are you surprised?, Gen, I did it again, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7372249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritequette/pseuds/Ritequette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Noah set a trap. Allen walks right into it. And Link has to make a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eagle and the Mole

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tumblr DGM Hallow Countdown.
> 
> Day 5 Prompt: Sacrifice

 

_Avoid the reeking herd,_

_Shun the polluted flock,_

_Live like that stoic bird,_

_The eagle of the rock._

 

It is blisteringly hot.

That is Link’s only persistent thought from the moment they exit the Ark Gate onto the edge of a vast desert, shimmering with mirages, until the second the akuma emerge from the shifting sands. He steps through from world to another, and the heat smacks his face, like a tangible thing, a burning palm striking him for some unknown offense. He breathes in dry fire, and the air parches his throat, burns his lungs, and he’s immediately thirsty, dying for a gallon, like he hasn’t drunk a drop in weeks.

Walker steps out of the Gate behind him, the hot winds whipping at his cloak. He squints under the glare of the harsh, naked sun, and coughs, sand already gumming up his tongue. “Jeez,” he mutters. “I don’t remember it being this awful last time Master and I came through here.”

Link spies their destination in the distance, a stone ruin left to erode in the desert. Some temple or ancient dwelling forgotten when civilization moved on. It stands tall and proud, pillars jutting up toward the pale blue sky, even while half its remains lay broken and cracked around the base. Link clears his throat, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, and replies to Walker, “Perhaps you embellished that memory in order to forget how bad it really was.”

Walker steps up next to him and sighs. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Link pulls his binoculars from his belt and peers through them, taking a long, slow panoramic look across the area. He doesn’t see anything or anyone at first, but then, standing in the enormous shadow of one of the pillars, he spots a familiar coat. A Finder. Waiting for them to arrive so they can hunt down the Innocence together.

“Finder Aldan is already there. Best not to keep him waiting in this heat.” Link gestures for Walker to take the lead, like usual. Link can watch Walker’s back just fine, but he cannot be the vanguard, not when a single akuma bullet could send him to the grave. That is Walker’s burden to bear— _unfortunately_ , Link thinks in off moments.

“Right,” Walker says and heads down the steep incline of the dune they stand upon. “Let’s hope this mission doesn’t go as bad as—”

Link thinks Walker means to say _Barcelona_ , when they lost two Finders and Exorcist Krory nearly lost his head after the ceiling of the warehouse they were fighting in unexpectedly collapsed. Link took a wooden beam to the hand, three fingers broken. And Walker was almost run through by a steel rod. It missed his rib cage by less than two inches. It was an awful mission from the start, and it was never going to end well. And Walker’s been complaining about it for weeks.

This time, his complaint is cut short—because he trips in the sand, flounders for a second, and then tumbles face first down the sand dune, rolling all the way. Link pauses and watches his charge flail to a stop, groaning as he sits up, sand stuck all in his hair. Link sighs. “Walker, are you all right?”

The boy smiles up at him sheepishly and shakes the sand from his silvery locks. “Uh, I think so. Sorry about that. I tripped over something hard, and—”

His cursed eye activates between one blink and the next.

And a Level 4 bursts forth from the sand.

 

_The huddled warmth of crowds_

_Begets and fosters hate;_

_He keeps above the clouds_

_His cliff inviolate._

 

Link loses count of them.

Normally, in a combat scenario, Link strictly keeps count of the number of active enemy combatants. It was one of the many lessons he learned in his training as a Crow: never lose track of the enemy’s numbers. Because if you do, you run the risk of declaring victory too soon, letting your guard down at a crucial moment. For most of his life, Link has taken this device to heart and refused to let even the shadow of an enemy escape his attention.

But in this situation, Link thinks, it’s pointless to count the akuma. They emerge from the sand like maggots erupting from a corpse, dozens of 1s and 2s and 3s, all of them shrieking, guns at the ready—and all their attention on Walker and absolutely nothing else. No. Counting his enemies in this battle wouldn’t do Link any good at all.

Because this is a trap. And they are sorely outnumbered. And no amount of accurate math is going to help them survive. 

Link brings up a protective shield of seals the same instant Walker activates Crown Clown, the white cloak enveloping him just before the hail of bullets fly. Walker shouts for Link to run, and Link does exactly that, bounding down the dune with bullets bouncing off his quickly weakening spell. He glances up briefly at the Ark Gate, sitting there on the top of the hill, only to find it guarded by a line of 3s. If they’re going to get out of this alive, they’ll have to make second Gate, even if that means going against Central’s orders. 

Link would complain, the same way he complained when they were trapped in the orphanage during the Phantom Thief G incident, but…his gaze rises to the sky, now filled with the hulking forms of akuma, too many akuma even for Walker to handle without suffering defeat, or worse. He would complain, but he doesn’t want to _die._ And he doesn’t want Walker to die either. 

So he takes off for what little protection the ruined temple offers, pulling his best blades and whispering his strongest spells into existence. “Walker!” he shouts. “Get in here! I’ll cover you so you can make a new Gate!”

Allen leaps into the air, his Clown Belt flinging akuma every which way, his Sword of Exorcism slicing through them like they’re made of butter and not hell-born metal. He quickly spins around to peer back at Link, sweat pouring down his face, the sun eating at his pale skin, and shouts, “I’ll be there in just a minute. Head inside and get ready!” 

He can’t say more than that.

Because that is when the Level 4 chooses to attack.

 

_When flocks are folded warm,_

_And herds to shelter run,_

_He sails above the storm,_

_He stares into the sun._

 

The Finder is a setup.

Link is aware of this long before he dashes across the hot sand to the half-hidden steps leading to the base of the temple. No Finder could still be alive surrounded by that many akuma, which means the “Finder” is either an akuma in disguise, or simply a corpse propped up as bait for him and Walker.

Link takes no chances as he charges up the steps, akuma bullets still beating at his shield. He whips out several more paper tags, with both offensive and defensive seals, and whispers them into activation. As he approaches the pillar where the illusion of Finder Aldan still stands, he briefly glances over his shoulder. 

Just in time to see Walker launch a brutal assault with his new Death Spheres technique. Akuma explode in every direction, half the horde cut down in a single attack. But the 4 escapes with minimal damage and whirls back around through the air to try and eviscerate Walker again. The exorcist, now winded from the exertion of his most powerful attack, is forced to dodge, and yet again Link has to watch his charge tumble down a sand dune.

He curses. Skidding to a halt, he flings one of his offensive seals at the 4, praying that the small paper tag, rippling in the wind, moves fast enough. It does. Barely. It makes contact with the 4’s distorted head when the monster is less than five from Walker, who’s still tangled in the cloak of his own Innocence.

The tag explodes, knocking the 4 off track, and it rockets into the sand face first off to Walker’s left. Walker disentangles himself, finally, and clambers to his feet, throwing Link a thankful smile as he raises his sword high to impale the 4 before it can recover. But a moment before the sword makes contact with the writhing akuma, Walker falters, eyes wide. 

Link realizes too late that Walker falters because of _him_. When something thin and sharp and wicked, laced with dark matter, wraps around his neck and yanks him backward. He flies through the air ten feet, twenty, before slamming into the pillar where Finder Aldan’s mockery was standing only seconds before.

Aldan isn’t standing anymore. His corpse, dried and cracked from exposure to the heat and wind, lies crumpled in a heap on the stone floor. Link bounces off the wall and lands next him, the Finder’s empty sockets right next to his face. He coughs hard, neck on fire, chest spasming, and rolls away from the corpse—only for a long shadow to fall over him. 

Link feels the sharp thread again, two of them, three, four, wrap around his arms and legs before he has the chance to throw another seal. His defensive shield collapses, tags burning away, and Link is forced to lie prostrate, vulnerable, defenseless, as a Noah casually saunters toward him.

“Goodness,” says the Noah, adjusting his monocle, “you two certainly took your time arriving. I was certain I’d melt before you got here.”

In the distance, Link hears Walker scream his name. 

In front of him, Link watches the Noah flick his fingers.

And then Link is flying. Too fast. Too far. To live.

 

_If in the eagle's track_

_Your sinews cannot leap,_

_Avoid the lathered pack,_

_Turn from the steaming sheep._

 

Link doesn’t know how long he sleeps.

It could be five seconds, or five minutes, or five hours. His mind filters through half-forgotten memories, bursts of vivid color amidst a field of gray. Tevak laughing. Madarao chasing Tokusa during a game. Lvellie staring at down at him with a smile on his face—their first meeting. Training with the Crows, vicious blows assaulting his small body. A red coat laid out on a bed, pristine, not a single wrinkle, brand new.

Finally, tortuously, the past dissolves, and Link blinks heavy eyes open at last. He gaze lands on the sky for a moment, pale blue, not a cloud, the sun out of sight—he’s in the shadow of a stone wall. He eyes track leftward, and he spies cracks in the wall. Fresh cracks, not from the weathering of sand for centuries but from a violent impact. Blood is spattered across them.

Link _remembers_ , and that’s when the pain hits. He inhales sharply, only to rattle the fractured ribs in his chest. Suppressing a loud groan, he forces himself to roll over and reach for a knife, a paper tag, anything to protect himself with. But his fingers are shaking wildly, two of the newly healed ones broken again, and his vision wavers with each breath. The back of his head is wet and warm, blood running down his neck.

He clenches his teeth and tries to focus his sight, panning his gaze from left to right. He finds Walker, on his knees before the Noah that threw Link away like a piece of trash. Walker is struggling to stand, but his legs won’t seem to move, and Link realizes that the Noah must be holding Walker the same way he held Link—with those strange, invisible, unbreakable threads.

Walker barks something at the Noah, but Link is too far away to hear the words. The Noah stands there, clearly bored, his posture indicating that he’s annoyed he hasn’t yet escaped the awful desert heat. Walker growls and yells “Clown Belt,” strips of white shooting at the Noah, but the man merely steps back and then swipes one hand to the side, dragging Walker’s knees out from under him and sending him sprawling. Crown Clown’s white strips hit a partially broken wall and fall limp. 

Then, Link’s breath catches in his throat—because the Level 4 peeks around the pillar behind Walker. Clearly interested in continuing their battle from before. A Noah is bad enough; together, he and Walker _might_ be able to distract one long enough to escape from this place. But a Noah _and_ a Level 4? Link doesn’t think he has enough tricks left to handle both of those at once, unless…

He presses his forehead against the hot stone and exhales a shaky breath. He eyes find Walker again, the boy struggling to get out of the Noah’s bonds. His arm has reverted to the claw form, and he’s viciously swiping those claws around his legs. But they appear to find nothing tangible to sever.

The Noah walks up to him again and squats down, chuckling. He says more words Link can’t discern, but the ex-Crow gets the gist of it from Walker’s reaction: he freezes up and throws his head back, gasping. And then—Link’s heart almost stops when he spies a distortion in the air a few feet behind the Noah. A distortion that quickly forms into something familiar.

A black Ark Gate.

The Noah is going to take Allen to the Earl. 

Links clenches his teeth so hard his jaw hurts, then releases the tension in a rough, empty laugh. He’s always suspected his end would come like this, but he never guessed it’d be in service to a suspected heretic. No, Link saw himself defending Central during the final battle for the world, the Vatican City reduced to a corpse-filled field. He saw himself fighting side by side with Crows, with exorcists, with anyone and everyone capable of lending the smallest hand against the Earl’s endless army of akuma. He saw himself getting cut down by an akuma bullet while protecting the wounded, or helping the innocents fleeing the fight.

He didn’t see _this_ coming. Allen Walker.

But then, who ever saw Allen Walker coming?

Link unhooks the clasp on the pouch on his belt that he’s never touched in battle before. He takes out the row of paper tags inked with seals he’s never dared to use. He whispers an apology to Tevak, to Tokusa, to Madarao, Kiredori and Goushi too, for leaving them in their condition, for leaving them to such a fate. He whispers an apology to Lvellie, for failing in his mission. He whispers an apology to Allen Walker, who probably deserves it the most.

Then he activates the spell with a rough, bloody whisper, and begins to close his heavy eyes as the tags glow brighter and brighter. At the same time, with his free hand, he takes another tag, and brushes it against his lips softly as he wishes it away.

He hears Walker screaming for him, in the seconds before the end, as the final tag drags the boy through the air, back toward the Ark Gate they emerged from so recently and yet so long ago. The last thing he sees of his charge is a flicker of white as Walker’s body vanishes to safety. 

The last thing sees of the world is a bright white glow, his final spell engulfing the ruins of the temple. The Noah yells something, startled, and Link feels the brutal impact of a barrage of akuma bullets against his back. But it doesn’t matter, Link thinks, as his mind slips away in the darkness. He never intended to use this spell and survive. 

There is heat, blistering heat. And then there is nothing.

 

_If you would keep your soul_

_From spotted sight or sound,_

_Live like the velvet mole:_

_Go burrow underground._

 

Allen Walker comes back a mere two hours later, with half the Order’s exorcists in tow. 

But in the desert where he and his Master trekked so long ago, there is nothing to see but the sun in the sky, the heat radiating off the dunes, and a crater where a temple used to be, quickly filling with sand. 

Allen Walker stands atop the tallest dune for a long while, silent and swathed in white. 

Then he bows and walks onward.

 

_And there hold intercourse_

_With roots of trees and stones,_

_With rivers at their source,_

_And disembodied bones._

**Author's Note:**

> Poem "The Eagle and the Mole" by Elinor Wylie


End file.
